Welcome to 'just old flies,' a section of methods and flies that
used-to-be. These flies were tied with the only materials
available. Long before the advent of 'modern' tying
materials, they were created and improved upon at a
far slower pace than today's modern counterparts;
limited by materials available and the
tiers imagination.

Once long gone, there existed a 'fraternity' of anglers
who felt an obligation to use only the 'standard' patterns
of the day. We hope to bring a bit of nostalgia to these pages and to
you. And sometimes what you find here will not always be
about fishing. Perhaps you will enjoy them. Perhaps you
will fish the flies. Perhaps?

Bemis Stream

By Eric Austin, Ohio

When discussing the Rangeley Region of Maine, it's necessary to point out that we are talking about much
more than just a series of lakes here. There are a number of ponds in the area as well, many of which have
been stocked over the years, and various tributaries and feeders to the lakes, the Magalloway and Kennebago to
name just a couple of the more famous ones. One little stream meanders down a mountain and feeds into Mooselookmeguntic,
across from Toothaker Island at the South end of the lake, the cool mountain spring water
creating interesting fly fishing there all summer long. It's called Bemis Stream, also known as Beamis Stream
and in the 1800s, Bema Stream. The fly above, found in Bergman's Trout is called Beamis Stream,
named for the tributary. In the 1800s Camp Bema was built at the mouth of the stream, and it and all the land
around was owned by a company of well-to-do men who used the buildings as a staging area for their fishing exploits.
Here's a description of the camp found in an article in Outing Magazine, written by Ripley Hitchcock:

Camp Bema, or Bemis, is more characteristic than any of the other camps. That at the Upper Dam makes many
pretensions to elegance, but the pretense and elegance of the hackneyed summer resorts are out of place in the woods.
Camp Bema is in keeping with its surroundings. Half-a-dozen rough log-cabins, with nearly as many more framed and
boarded, crown a knoll rising from the water's edge. A pathway from the show leads through a great gray boulder
cleft in two.

A sketch of Cleft Rock:

In the immediate vicinity are Long Pond and Bemis Ponds, just a few of the many found throughout the region.
There are so many ponds that they appear to have actually run out of names for them, substituting letters of the
alphabet ultimately. One of the more well known of those is "B" Pond, connected by a tributary to
Lake Umbagog. It used to be accessible only via a "swing bridge" over the raging Rapid River, and affair where
the angler sits in a chair and pulls himself across via a pulley system. There is a fly named for "B" Pond:

There seemed to be something in the air around Bema Stream, maybe its seclusion from the more traveled
areas of Upper Dam, but after a few weeks in the woods at Camp Bema, some crazy adventures invariably
took place. The Rangeley Lakes could become very dangerous in a hurry, with storms and high winds blowing up
at a moment's notice. Fishermen had figured out that the fishing was pretty good when these storms were
about, and Edward Seymour tells of his boat capsizing in the middle of one of them:

Confident in my own swimming powers, I called to my guide, as soon as I came to the surface and grasped
hold of the boat, that I could take care of myself, and not to be alarmed on my account. But a
desperate series of flounderings on his part indicated to me what I had never before supspected, that,
notwithstanding the fact that he had been a guide upon these waters for thirty years, HE COULD
NOT SWIM A STROKE.

Ultimately the guide hauled himself up on the bow of the now inverted boat, while Mr. Seymour, in heavy clothing
(it was September), clung to the side and was towed ashore by another boat in the vicinity. The gear that
had gone to the bottom was retrieved the next day, and all ended well.

In another incident, Mr. Seymour was fishing with Mr. Page and Mr. Crounse, who were part of the group that
owned the land in the vicinity, each in their own boat with a guide. Mr. Page, a New York gentlemen, was hosting the get together,
and had limited his own fishing so that others could have the fun. Late in the day a rise was spotted and Page, who
hadn't caught a fish, exclaimed "That's my trout!" and had his guide take him over to the spot. Within a cast or two
he had a large fish on, and an epic battle began. The fish appeared to be towing the boat at one point, and neither
it nor Page would yield. It eventually began to get dark, and the two other boats reeled in and the occupants decided
to go over to Page's boat, now a half mile away, and get in on the fun. Page was winning the war, and when they
got over there they found the trout sulking:

Settling again to the bottom, he had apparently made up his mind to stay there; but the gentle, steady persuasion of the
faithful seven-ounce Murphy split bamboo fly rod again proved too much for him, and straining his tackle to the utmost,
Mr. Page brought his victim gradually toward the surface. The three boats had now come so close together that the fish
was shut in on all sides. But it had become so dark that it was difficult to discern objects with any distinctness,
and to shed all the light we could upon the puzzling problem which was at last approaching solution, we got together all
the matches we had with us, and made in each boat a miniature bonfire. Soon a commotion upon the surface of the water showed
that the crtitical moment had arrived. There, with his back fin as erect as ever, was a magnificent trout, which was soon in
the landing net, and in a moment after in the boat, after precisely and hour and a half of its steady and persistent a fight
as ever made for life. But his capture was a full reward for all the time and trouble it had cost, since he weighted by
the scales full seven pounds.

There was much fun to be had in those days, as there is now. I've had a look at the area via aerial maps on-line, and
it still looks pretty wild, though there are some roads in the vicinity now. And we can always have a good time tying the
flies from the hayday of the brook trout. Here are the recipes for Beamis Stream and "B" Pond:

Beamis Stream from J. Edson Leonard's Flies

Tail: Brown mallard and golden pheasant tippet

Ribbing: Gold tinsel

Body: Claret dubbing

Hackle: Brown tied palmer

Wing: Brown turkey, brown mallard splits

"B" Pond from J. Edson Leonard's Flies

Tip: Gold tinsel

Tail: Gray mallard

Ribbing: Gold tinsel

Body: Scarlet 1/2 fore, yellow 1/2 aft

Hackle: Scarlet, yellow over

Wing: Gray mallard

Note: The tip is not mentioned in Leonard's book, but is clearly
shown in Mary Orvis Marbury's Favorite Flies.

About Eric:

Eric lives in Delaware, Ohio and fishes for brown trout in
the Mad River, a beautiful spring creek. More of his flies
are on display here: Traditionalflies.com -- Classic salmon and
trout flies of Europe and the Americas.